Your Holy Dark
by fourandtwenty
Summary: The Prequel to Supposed Crime, Your Holy Dark described how Snape and Hermione ended up together--and how Harry managed to tear it all apart. Every beginning has an end, and every end has a beginning.
1. Life I Have Known

_**Your Holy Dark**_  
_(Prequel to Supposed Crime)_  
  
by Megan and Aimée  
  
  
This is a joint effort between the two of us, and as a result chapters will probably be up every three to five days. Chances are, you won't be able to guess which one of us wrote which part, even if you've carefully analyzed every fanfic we've ever written. Enjoy the story, although chapters are short, and don't forget to click that little button at the bottom asking you to review.  
  
  
**Prologue:****  
**  
  
Love is a lesson one spends their entire life learning. In the space of twenty-one years, I spent four sections of unequal time learning four different lessons in love, all from four very different men—and I regretted none.  
  
My first experience in what one could call love came from an eighteen year old Bulgarian Quidditch star; Viktor Krum. He was a sweet, misunderstood man, one who craved the privacy he never received. He was the only one who truly tried to gain my affections and the only one who truly did not succeed. He was my first and possibly most important lesson in love; while one may have a great thing in their hands, that great thing will stay as long as sand or water slipping through one's fingers will. Our relationship was rather short, but intense. He was the first one I slept with; the morning after, however, I broke it off. His family was adamant on not accepting me, simply due to the purity of the blood within my veins.  
  
I shall tell you of the other three relationships I have had in the pages to come. Each hold their own beauty, love, and sense of mystery; each hold their own drama, strife, and betrayal.   
  
This is my life as I have known it, and these are the things I can never—nor would ever—change. These are the things sacred to me, both my Holy Light and my Holy Dark. There could never be a true ending, as the events are not over yet and there are still more to come. They will not end when my body dies, for my soul, spirit, and love for these men will live on.  
  
I will do the best I can in showing you exactly why I fell in love with them.  
  



	2. An Investment In Earplugs

**Your Holy Dark, Chapter One**  
  
All right, there seems to be a bit of confusion regarding the time span of Krum and Hermione's relationship. She was with him when she was sixteen, and broke it off with him when she was sixteen. This goes beyond forth year :o) Our way of writing makes sure there is always a backup chapter; as in chapter two is written and is on the editting table as we speak. Nice, eh?  
_Megan and Aimée_  
  
  
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_" . . . and he's off to detention again tonight, this time for fighting with Malfoy in Care of Magical Creatures. I know Hagrid hated to do it, but at least this time Malfoy has to serve detention, too. Hopefully Ron'll learn to control his temper sometime."_  
  
I was startled out of my thoughts and writings as Ron came around my chair in the middle of the Gryffindor Common room and plopped a not-so-tender kiss on my forehead. I quickly closed my book, in fear of Ron reading the words within, and set it aside as I stood up to bid him farewell.   
  
"I'm off to kill me a Malfoy, love," he said in a horrible attempt to imitate an American accent as he embraced me warmly.  
  
Not quite willing to let him go, I lowered my head without a word to rest it on his shoulder. I inhaled his scent deeply as he planted another rough kiss on my forehead, resisting the urge to wrinkle my nose. I didn't particularly like Ron's choice of cologne, and as a result had bought him a new one for his birthday nearly six months before. However, Ron being the Ron I knew and loved, he either refused to use it or had simply forgotten about the gift. Nevertheless, the scent he wore with such confidence was a familiar smell, one I welcomed.   
  
"Just make sure you dispose of the evidence and don't get caught," I shot him a disapproving look as I backed away from the heat of his warm body. "This is the third night in a row you've had detention, and I miss you." I completed this thought with a cat-like grin, making Ron's face light up like a ridiculously decorated Christmas tree.  
  
"So what's my reward for staying out of trouble?" he asked, totally straight faced as he toyed with a piece of my long brown hair.  
  
"You'll see if you don't kill Malfoy tonight." I was teasing him, of course, and he loved every moment of it whether he would admit to it or not.  
  
Ron looked nervous at this, as if someone told him he had to take to living off tripe and spinach for the rest of his life. "You'd deny me my God-given right to rid the world of scum like Malfoy? You know Hagrid wouldn't mind if I offed the bugger while his back was turned."  
  
I laughed in spite of myself. "Could you think of a more cowardly way to kill the git, Ron? Don't stoop to his level, you know better than that—now get out of here, you'll be late."   
  
I grinned to myself as Ron wandered out of the room through the portrait hole, his impish grin staying plastered over his facial features. After he had left, I picked up my journal once again, but instead of writing, I started blankly at the page I had randomly turned to and lost myself in my thoughts.  
  
I'd been with Ron for nearly two years, since the end of our fifth year. He'd been there to comfort me when Viktor Krum and I broke it off. Our parting of ways had come as a shock to me, as I hadn't an idea his family didn't approve of his going around with a witch of Muggle descent. This had hit me closer to home than I had expected, simply because it was then I realized exactly how much blood mattered in the wizarding world. Until then, my heritage had simply been something only Draco Malfoy had brought up, using it always as an insult—one that hadn't hurt until then.   
  
Ron had been there for me those awful weeks, going out of his way to reassure me wizarding blood did not and never would matter in most wizarding families' eyes, and most certainly didn't matter within the Weasley household.   
  
That was around the time Harry invested in a pair of earplugs.   
  
However close Ron and I got as a couple, the three of us were still as close as ever. I was glad our friendship had endured so much for so long, and I was grateful for the knowledge that I had friends there whenever I needed them, and I would be there for whenever they needed me.  
  
That time came much quicker than the three of us would have ever guessed.  
  



	3. River of Darkness

**Your Holy Dark, Chapter Two**  
  
  
It was the beginning of our seventh year in which my life took a change for both the better and the worst. The war against Voldemort and his Death Eaters had escalated to the point of utter pandemonium in every corner of Europe and was spreading to the Far East. Resistance was building, but his legions seemed to swell and grow in ways that didn't seem possible. More and more wizards and Muggles alike were killed each day, and soon the morning post by owl was anticipated with feelings of dread by all but those who were part of his army themselves.  
  
It was the morning of September 19th, my eighteenth birthday, when my life began to spin out of control. The day was intended to be one of happiness and celebration; instead, it was taken into the clutches of destiny and turned upside down by the contents of one single letter, one in which was not even sent to me. The eagle owl that had carried the burden brought the parchment to the High Table, to be dropped off in Professor McGonagall's breakfast tea. I paid no heed as she opened it and soon after released the pages numbly, allowing it to float back down into her tea without recognition or resistance.  
  
Later that morning was when I was unexpectantly called into the Headmaster's office. As it was the beginning of the year where I was granted the privilege of proudly bearing the Head Girl badge on my robes, I hadn't expected anything of a life-changing magnitude as I climbed the winding staircase and walked through the heavy oak doors into Headmaster Dumbledore's office. Even as both figures of Dumbledore and McGonagall came into view, I wasn't worried; my Head of House was often involved in matters of the school.  
  
It wasn't until I had sat down at the grave request of Dumbledore and endured a long, uncomfortable moment of silence when I finally realized something wasn't right. It may have been the way Professor McGonagall was shooting sympathetic looks my way every moment or so, or the way Dumbledore gazed at me with his haunted blue eyes; either way, the sense of dread I had ignored and chased away into the recesses of my mind all morning finally came upon me like a tidal wave, leaving no part of my mind and mental state untouched.  
  
"Are they alive?"  
  
Immediately, I had assumed the worse, and unfortunately I had been correct in my assumption; the Headmaster simply looked down at his gnarled old hands and sighed, while Professor McGonagall put a supportive arm around my shoulders as Dumbledore began to speak.  
  
"Six Muggles and two Aurors were killed in the middle of London last night." His voice was weighed down by years of sorrow even greater than that morning. "Dozens of civilians were injured, and even more were witnesses. Your parents were two of the first to be killed."  
  
The image of my parents waving to me as the train to Hogwarts left King's Cross less than three weeks before seemed to suddenly be the only image my mind could see. Slowly, I brought one shaking, pale hand up to wipe away the river of tears that had appeared as if by magic on my cheek.   
  
"Were they in any pain?"  
  
My tone was strong but my voice was weak, shaking almost as much as my hands were. Utter disbelief had set itself upon me, and I quickly came up with a dozen or more ways the Ministry could have been mistaken. As far as I knew, they hadn't access to Muggle means of identification, and therefore no sure way of identifying the victims of the attack.   
  
"No," Dumbledore said in a voice barely above a whisper. "It is completely possible they had no idea they were about to die, or of the danger they were in."  
  
"In other words, they were oblivious," I whispered, my voice choking up as more tears streamed down my cheeks. "Do—" I took a deep breath, trying to regain the composure and sanity I would spend the rest of my life searching for. "Does the Ministry have the—the bodies?"  
  
"Yes," Dumbledore answered slowly, once again gazing at me with his icy bottomless orbs. "They will be buried side by side in the cemetery where the rest of your family and ancestors rest. Would you like to attend?"  
  
I searched for words to express how much I abhorred the thought of burying both my sire and dam in the same light of the same day, throwing identical flowers into each their identical burial plots, their identically stiff and lifeless bodies encased by identically hard and cold coffins. I had never contemplated losing both of my parents in one foul sweep before, although the possibility of a single one's demise had crossed the dark and paranoid corners of my mind before.   
  
"No," I spoke softly, yet with a tone so firm Dumbledore could do nothing but accept my answer and respect my decision. "I don't need to be surrounded by acquaintances and distant relatives in order to grieve, thank you."  
  
"The decision is yours to make," he replied, taking my pale shaking hand in his own. "Your train would leave two days from now and you would be gone for perhaps two days, or longer if you wish." He sighed once more, age and wisdom shining through that one simple sound. "If you change your mind, please do not hesitate to tell me."  
  
Without a word, I shrugged Professor McGonagall's arm off of my shoulders and stood, nodding politely to both astonished parties, making my way out mechanically.  
  
I don't remember the trip to the Gryffindor Common Room, nor do I remember speaking the password to the Fat Lady. I do remember, however, searching for the pair of comforting arms to wrap themselves around me, which took me only a moment to find. As Ron enveloped my slight form, I began to sob forcefully, my face buried into the shoulder of his cloak.  
  
"They're dead," I whispered through my choking sobs. I heard Ron's own voice catch in his throat as he gripped me tighter, his tears mixing with mine as we stood there, grieving for the lives of the two most important people in my life.  
  



End file.
